The Point Of A Sword
by pir8
Summary: A short story tracing the sword Will made for Norrington, all the way to the final battle where he is stabbed by Davy Jones with the sword that he himself made. Just a story about the irony of that sword.


**Disclaimer:  
**_I do not own these characters, Disney does. and they  
make all the money too. and that sucks. Maybe I  
should commandeer the characters, then I can make the  
money. Nautical term ... or not. No, I won't. I  
don't want to get in trouble.  
okay, everthing belongs to the Mighty Mouse.  
I bow to his power .. please don't sue me ... you  
won't get anything anyhow._

**Summary:**

_A short story tracing the sword Will made for  
Norrington, all the way to the final battle where he  
is stabbed by Davey Jones with the sword that he  
himself made. Will and Elizabeth's wedding IS  
mentioned, but Sparrabethers can most likely still  
read this without getting offended, as it's not really  
a Willabeth either. Just a story about the sword.  
Sorry, I'm obsessed with the irony of that sword.  
So sad ..._

**The Point of a Sword** _by Pir8_

Darkness had fallen upon Port Royal hours ago. Children had been tucked into bed, and while the rowdy frequenters of the taverns and the squalid areas of town were just getting started with their night's debauchery, most of the respectable citizens of the town were in their homes, windows shuttered, preparing to go to sleep.

But one respectable citizen was still up, working,  
even this late into the night.  
A pale yellow light emanated from the slightly open door of the smithy.  
The young apprentice, William Turner, was putting the final touches to a sword.  
Will had made many swords in his young lifetime - at first crude, unbalanced, and uncertain, but slowly becoming more graceful, beautiful, and sure, until the perfect blend of metals in his blades, strong yet flexible, seemed to scintillate as he flashed them through the air, practicing with the results of his craft for three hours a day.

Will's craftsmanship had become so fine, his hands so skilled, that he was trusted with most of the work given to his master. And this sword was the finest he had crafted yet. It was a special sword, this - made to order specifically by Governor Swann (father of his childhood friend Elizabeth Swann) - and it was to be given to Captain James Norrington on the morrow,  
during the upcoming ceremony of his promotion to Commodore.

Will was putting the finishing touches on the hilt of the sword, and finally he laid down his tool, lifted the sword to the lamplight so that he could examine more closely, and looked it over with careful scrutiny, trying to look at it with the critical eye of his master, Mr. Brown.  
He held the blade in his hand, hefting it, feeling the perfect distribution of the weight of the metal -  
just right. Perfectly balanced.  
He ran a finger gently, almost caressingly, upon the sharp straight edge of the folded steel blade. Perfect again.  
He grasped the beautifully decorated handle in his strong, practiced swordsman's hand and gave it a few swings. It felt just right.  
Will looked at the weapon with a look of proud satisfaction in his kind brown eyes and smiled to himself. It was a beautiful sword. A true craftsman,

Will had put his heart and soul into this weapon -  
forming it, molding it, shaping it from lumps of molten metal into this beautiful tool. The careful inlaying of the gold filigree into the handle had been done with infinite care. Nothing had been skipped or done halfheartedly, and Will was justifiably proud of a job well done.  
It would be a perfect gift for the new Commodore.  
Will took the sword gently, as gently as a mother handles a newborn baby, and laid it in a long wooden box.  
In the morning, he was to deliver it to Governor Swann, and the sword would start its journey through the life of the commodore.  
Little did Will know the ironic toll the sword would later require of him.

The sword started out ordinarily enough, if being the weapon of a fine naval officer can be considered ordinary, at a solemn ceremony for the Captain-turning-Commodore Norrington, and through the next few years it hung by his side through many battles, mostly with pirates.  
Will, meanwhile, moved in his relationship with Elizabeth, the governor's daughter, from just friends to something more, and became something of a pirate himself along the way, thanks mostly to a certain pirate named Captain Jack Sparrow.  
The commodore, in pursuit of aforementioned pirate captain, (long story) eventually lost his job, and with it the sword that had been given him upon his commission.

The sword lay quiet for a while then, being ostensibly guarded by a certain Lord Cutler Beckett,  
and then, through a long and convoluted series of circumstances, mishaps, and other not-probable and sometimes twisted happenings, Commodore Norrington gained it back.  
With the regaining of his sword, the Commodore regained a bit of honor, in a way - if not with the law, then with justice. Which is more important anyhow. And James Norrington, with a broken, crude, barnacle-encrusted blade sticking out of his chest -  
absolving him of some of his sins, at least -defiantly (though futilely) thrust his beautiful sword into the heartless chest of Davy Jones, Devil of the Sea, when Jones's cruel, mocking voice asked him, "Do you fear death?" The Commodore died the brave death of a good man, as indeed he was at the last, and the sword passed into the keeping of Davy Jones.

A maelstrom of epic proportions raged on the sea, and a battle raged on the decks of the Black Pearl and the Flying Dutchman.  
On the Pearl, men were falling, wounded and dying,right and left. And Will and Elizabeth, having just at that moment been somewhat hastily married by Captain Hector Barbossa - well, so-called Captain, though the existence of his ship was never certain -were locked in an embrace in the midst of the chaos. Rain was pouring down in sheets upon them, and they were in a rather perilous place, to be sure, but this was the only wedding kiss either of them ever planned on having, and they weren't about to miss it.

At last, however, they were forced to break it up for the moment, as the raging battle swept back around them, roiling and screaming with all the fury of the waves below the ships, and their assistance was required. They fought like madmen (except for Elizabeth, who is, in fact, a woman) and the battle finally necessitated that they board the Flying Dutchman,  
whereupon they encountered Davy Jones - bitter, angry, and bloodthirsty. Elizabeth fell and was very nearly stabbed by Jones, but Jones' hand was stayed as a blade pierced him from behind. Will always came to the rescue of anyone who threatened Miss Swann - or, Mrs. Turner.

Jones, unaffected by the blade sticking through his body,  
twisted it so that Will couldn't pull it out, then with an angry roar turned and knocked Will across the deck with a powerful kick from his claw-like leg.  
Will lay on the wet, rain-soaked, blood-slicked deck,  
unhurt but stunned and unable to move.  
He was cloudy-headed, but the clouds were replaced quickly by the clear pangs of fear as Jones looked from Elizabeth to Will. Jones laughed his bitter,  
ironic laugh. "Ah" - he said scornfully. "Love. A dreadful bond - and yet, so easily severed. Tell me,  
William Turner - do you fear death?" A distraction from Captain Jack Sparrow at that point seemed as if it were going to turn Jones from his fateful deed. But the monster had gone too far to care, or else he was just stark raving mad, and before anyone had a chance to act - not that there was anything anyone could have done, really - Jones had raised his sword and plunged it into Will's chest. Will's face twisted in agony, and he gasped as the blade pierced his body. Jones sneered, twisting it into the helpless man as he pushed it in further, then turned and walked away.

Elizabeth rushed to Will's side and collapsed on her knees beside him.  
"Will! Will, don't leave me!" She gasped hysterically, slapping his cheeks, begging and pleading with him to stay with her. He tried, opened his mouth, tried to speak to her - but the pain was too much, the trauma was too great, and sweet William Turner's gentle brown eyes closed, and his head slumped over the fine steel blade and the gold filigreed handle that protruded from his body.  
The sword that the young smith had poured his heart into those years ago now pierced the heart that had given it birth.  
The heavens opened and the rain poured with a new vengeance, mingling with the tears in the helpless young bride's eyes, dripping like angel's tears onto the blade and onto the still, silent body slumped on the deck.

The sword had come home to the craftsman.

A short while later, two swords stood in the sand on a beach, their blades crossing, the surf lapping up around them.  
The sun was setting.  
And Will Turner - Captain Will Turner, captain of the Flying Dutchman - turned his face towards the sea. He had to - he had no choice.  
His young wife was weeping helplessly behind him.  
With a lump in his throat, Will forced himself to reach down for the sword in the sand.  
His strong blacksmith's hand closed around the familiar hilt firmly and unshakably - he had a duty to do, and he would not shirk it.  
But his heart, even though it was no longer inside him - the heart of a simple blacksmith destined to be a pirate, the heart of a good man - cried out and broke, and Will responded to that cry, and tears filled his sad brown eyes, stinging like the salt of the waves into which he numbly entered for the next eternity. His ship beckoned, duty called, and Will took his sword and headed out to sea.


End file.
